


Care to join me?

by TheEdster



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Absolute Accuracy Alfredo, F/M, Fake AH Crew, M/M, Shadow Walker Trevor, powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-14 15:42:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13593243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEdster/pseuds/TheEdster
Summary: Alfredo’s apartment is, like most things in the West Vinewood area, an uncomfortable mix of stylishly modern and sleazy. White walls were spotted with various stains and substances; the soft leather of his large grey sofas were poked with holes; a glass coffee table marked with spilt liquids and foods sat in the centre of the expansive room; dishes covered the marble counters in the kitchen. The smell of stale alcohol and sweat clung to the furniture even after Alfredo opened every window in the lounge. It’s a fucking pigsty, but honestly he didn’t have the energy to be pissed off or particularly grossed out, he’d brought this on himself. He could try cleaning for once, but he really couldn’t be fucked right now. His phone buzzed again, but he made no move to pick it up.Alfredo steals things for people - information, jewels, money, lives - and he's good at what he does. He's also really fucking bored. If he weren't so lazy he probably would've begun branching out a little sooner, but hey, better late than never.





	1. A buzzing cell phone on a dirty coffee table.

Alfredo’s apartment is, like most things in the West Vinewood area, an uncomfortable mix of stylishly modern and sleazy.  
  
White walls were spotted with various stains and substances; the soft leather of his large grey sofas were poked with holes; a glass coffee table marked with spilt liquids and foods sat in the centre of the expansive room; dishes covered the marble counters in the kitchen. The smell of stale alcohol and sweat clung to the furniture even after Alfredo opened every window in the lounge. It’s a fucking pigsty, but honestly he didn’t have the energy to be pissed off or particularly grossed out, he’d brought this on himself. He could try cleaning for once, but he really couldn’t be fucked right now.  
  
His bedroom was somehow worse, sheets spread around the room and last night’s clothing was thrown in a pile by the side of his dresser. The smell of alcohol wasn’t as strong in there, but the smell of sex and sweat certainly was. It’s what had prompted his move to the main living space an hour ago, that and the pit of hunger in his stomach. A quick piss and a brief, sad look into his fridge had been the only stop on his way to the lounge.  
  
His phone buzzed again, but he made no move to pick it up. His posture was deceptively relaxed, legs spread out before him, head tilted against the back of his seat. A cigarette dangled loosely between the fingers of his right hand, while his left arm hung over the arm of the sofa. He gazed up at the ceiling and focused on the sounds of cars passing by in the street.  
  
“So, like, are you gonna answer your fucking phone or what?” His head lifted at the female voice coming from the other sofa.  
  
Smudged makeup covered the prostitute’s face and left a mark on the white cushion she’d used as a pillow, short blonde hair sticking up in strange angles and falling into her otherwise unremarkable face. Alfredo had kinda forgotten she’d been there, the only person from last night who’d still been here when he woke up a few hours ago. To be fair, she blended in with the rest of his furniture surprisingly well, pink top wrinkled and black pencil skirt pushed up far enough that Alfredo could see she wasn’t wearing underwear. He averted his eyes back to the girl’s face and decided he could have done worse, but he could’ve done better too.  
  
“It’s not important. You hungry?” He asked Smudge. She looked through him, sitting up and swinging her legs around, stretching her arms before reaching under his coffee table for a moment.  
  
“Nah. You gonna pay me? I’ve got shit to do.” She said, pulling on a pair of tall, grey heels and sliding on blue panties. Classy.  
  
Alfredo couldn’t be fucked moving, so he gestured towards the kitchen. “Wallet’s on the counter, take whatever cash there is.”  
  
A few minutes later and she was gone, probably with his actual wallet too, and Alfredo leaned back with a sigh to stare at the ceiling again. His cigarette had gone out by now, so he flicked it somewhere to the side and ran his hand through his hair, fingers snagging a few knots.  
  
The phone buzzed on the coffee table.


	2. The hum of an engine and the squeal of tires on wet asphalt.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A boring job, an annoying buyer, a weird, amateur tail.

Just before he left his apartment, the sky had grown overcast and soon a light rain began to fall. He’d opened more windows despite this, hoping the smell would be gone by the time he got back. Alfredo had taken a long shower and gotten changed into dark jeans, a grey shirt and leather jacket before he’d finally answered his phone, pulling on boots while he half listened to his buyer talking at him. By the time he’d snatched his keys and pulled the solid black briefcase from under his bed, the buyer had lost enough steam that Alfredo could finally ask where to meet him.

The drive to East LS was quiet, save for the low hum of the engine and the constant movement of the windshield wipers. His fingers tapped on the sides of his steering wheel while sharp, tired eyes gazed out the window.

Alfredo looked at the case resting on his passenger seat. Inside the case, protected by an electronic lock and padding sat 3 USB sticks. What was on them, he had no clue, but it didn’t matter. He’d simply stolen the information, and he was being paid a nice sum for it, so as far as Alfredo was concerned, the swapping of brief cases was the only thing between him and another finished job.

Pulling in to the mostly empty warehouse, Alfredo spied four men. Unfortunate. He hummed in displeasure as he parked the car up and got out of the car, briefcase left safely inside.

“Mister Sauce-”

“This meeting was supposed to be one on one.” He interrupted, leaning against the side of his car. He looked straight at Manuel, a rather average looking man wearing a too-small beige suit, but kept the other three in his peripheral. Manuel shuffled his feet side to side, but kept his gaze on Alfredo.

“Originally. However, like I said on the phone, things have been heating up a little around here.” He paused, waiting for Alfredo to ask more. Alfredo said nothing, so Manuel continued in a slightly hurried voice. “The gangs, I mean. Borders have been shifting a little, so there are some high tensions right now. A few of the Latino gangs have tried pushing further south, so my friends here are simply for protection and my peace of mind-”

“Sounds great. Can we speed things up?”

Manuel shifted again, his shoulders squaring a little, but otherwise he didn’t react to being interrupted a second time. He turned and opened the boot of his expensive looking car to root around, which gave Alfredo a moment to look at the other men. Sitting on a wooden box to the side of Manuel’s car sat a young tattooed man, looking bored but alert as he idly cleaned a knife. Alfredo could relate to the tired expression on the kid's face.

The other two men were less interesting to Alfredo. They stood beside each other wearing matching leather jackets and looking like dipshits. One was bald, tall, his arms crossed over his chest and had sun glasses on, which seemed incredibly counter-productive to Alfredo; the warehouse was dark, the grey light from outside being the only source of illumination. The other was shorter, but more muscled than the first. His left hand rested on the gun tucked into his waistband. Alfredo dismissed them as soon as his eyes flicked in their direction.

Manuel turned and lifted a large case atop a crate beside him. He opened it and stepped back as Alfredo came over to inspect the contents, thumbing through wads of cash. Alfredo hummed again thoughtfully, closing the case before moving back to his car. He opened the passenger door and grabbed his own case before handing it the Manuel and waited patiently for the older man to pull out the USB sticks, plugging them into a laptop to check all the information was accounted for. By the gleeful expression on Manuel’s wrinkled face, it was. He looked up at Alfredo and smiled.

“Everything is here, excellent. Excellent job, thank you, Mister Sauce.” Alfredo was already reaching for his payment when Manuel spoke again. “If you don’t mind me asking...”

Alfredo paused, gazing steadily at Manuel with faint annoyance. If he was honest, Alfredo thought this guy was a bit of an idiot, clearly inexperienced in dealing with criminals despite his age. He was chatty, and it didn’t sit well with Alfredo.

“Well, I was just wondering about your usual clientele. Please, feel free to stop me if I overstep, but despite hearing your name from several different sources, I haven’t met anyone who could say they know you personally. Don’t you have any regular clients? Partners? You’re certainly competent, and the work you do is impressive. Are you associated with any gangs or mercenary groups? Surely someone of your talents would be quite useful-”

“Look, dude,” Alfredo paused, sighing. “I work with whoever the fuck I want. Shit like being in a gang or working for others on a regular basis really doesn’t interest me much. By the way, the wonder boys over there look like fucking meatheads. Find yourself better body guards since you’re so concerned about alliances and gangs.”

With that said, Alfredo turned and walked to his car. He forcefully pulled the door open and was climbing in when Manuel called out again.

“Perhaps you should consider aligning yourself with someone? It must be tough working alone all the time.” If Manuel continued, Alfredo didn’t hear it, slamming the door shut and turning on the engine. He pulled out, not sparing a glance at the men in the warehouse and turned back towards the road. Alfredo didn’t want to be lectured by some old shit, especially not someone like Manuel. He tried not to let people like that get to him, but something about that moron really irked Alfredo today. Who the hell did he think he was?

Alfredo weaved in between cars and past the occasional bus. Driving through the streets and stewing on his thoughts, he almost failed to notice the silver car that pulled up behind him at the lights. The same one that was near him three streets back when he’d glanced in the rear view mirror. Alfredo’s brain flipped, now alert but calm, and looked back towards the road ahead of him. When the lights turned green, he drove casually, heading into the Vinewood area. What he didn’t do, however, was take the turn that would lead him back to his apartment, but instead continued straight, up the hill towards the Vinewood sign. The silver car followed, moving around the traffic but keeping close enough so that Alfredo was always in his line of sight.

The longer the car followed, the more annoyed Alfredo became. It wasn’t Manuel personally, the car hadn’t been inside the warehouse, and he hadn’t seen it when he’d left either, however that didn’t mean it wasn’t connected. And if this guy was in league with Manuel, then Alfredo was seriously going to kill him. All Alfredo wanted was to sit in his unclean apartment and think about all the things he could be doing, then promptly not doing them. He didn’t have the patience for things like tails and angry buyers and annoying clients.

The sound of squealing tires had Alfredo straightening in his seat, but glancing back he saw the silver execute a neat little U turn and drive off, back the way they’d came. Fucking hell, who the hell was this guy? Alfredo would’ve been relieved if he weren’t so frazzled. It seemed everyone he’d dealt with today was either a moron or a complete amateur. Manuel, too chatty and fidgety. Tweedle dee and Tweedle dum, who were far too stupid looking to be real body guards. Now this moron? Who follows a mark so obviously, and then makes a huge display of leaving? Way to announce your presence to everyone in the neighbourhood.

Alfredo continued up the hill for a few more streets before getting bored and deciding to risk going home. He was tired, and honestly still hungover from the night before, and he really, really just wanted to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck Manuel.


	3. The dull thud of flesh hitting flesh, a grunt in an alleyway.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfredo was a simple guy, lazy, kind of an asshole but still decent enough that he talks politely to old women and doesn’t talk down to kids. Why couldn't his life be simple too?

Here’s the thing about Alfredo. He’s a simple guy, lazy, kind of an asshole but still decent enough that he talks politely to old women and doesn’t talk down to kids. He’s also incredibly talented at a lot of things, like cooking, shooting things, hand to hand combat, shooting people, video games. Shooting people in video games. He knows what his skills are, and how to make money from those skills, and if he wastes it all on sex, alcohol, an overpriced apartment in an overpriced suburb, well, that’s his choice to make.

Alfredo was his own person, and he wouldn’t be told how to live his life. Especially not by a fuckwit like Manuel.

The fact that his words were still floating around in Alfredo’s brain, even after another night of sex and alcohol and wasting hard earned money was both baffling and frustrating for him. He didn’t like dwelling on things, it wasn’t in his nature.

Alfredo pulled his jacket back on and left the building he’d woken up in, walking out into predawn light and looking around. Wherever he was, it wasn’t nearly as nice as his own building, although the guy who’d been sleeping beside him looked cleaner than Smudge the Prostitute, so that was a point in his favour. He knew Vinewood well, but he usually didn’t end up more than a few blocks away from his own place. He knew the general direction though, even in the dark, so taking a deep breath of cold air and exhaling through flared nostrils, he headed off down the street.

By the time he’d found his way back, traffic had picked up a little, and he could see the horizon slowly lighten. It was still too dark to see much, but the low traffic meant his ears picked up a familiar thud in an alley across the road from his building. On a normal morning, Alfredo wouldn’t have cared. Fuck, he still didn’t, but there was something about him today, maybe his strange mood, that made Alfredo pause for a moment at the edge of the alley.

The sound of a fist hitting flesh is a peculiar noise, one that Alfredo has grown accustom to in his years as a gun for hire. Today, on this quiet, dark morning, Alfredo was reminded strangely of when he first started out, before he learned to block out the violence, and for some reason it felt like he’s hearing it for the first time. Perhaps it’s because he usually avoids people so much that the only time he hears it, he’s either punching someone or someone’s punching him.

Or maybe Alfredo’s still coming down off whatever he put in his system last night. Who the fuck knows, really.

A grunt and more scuffing noises draws Alfredo’s focus once again, and he inches forward to peer down into the darkness. Thank god for his eyesight, because fuck it was dark.

Meeting new people had always been something Alfredo wasn’t thrilled about, but meeting someone who had a record like the Vagabond did made Alfredo feel rather put off. Especially witnessing the man’s raw strength the way he was now.  
The other guy was on the ground, covering his head with shaking arms. He grunted harshly as the Vagabond reached down and pulled him off the ground, holding his victim against the wall by his collar.

The Vagabond said something to him in a low, rough voice, too far away for Alfredo to listen in, but sounded pretty threatening, if the smaller guys reaction was anything to go by. Other Guy mumbled something in response, and the Vagabond hummed before letting Other Guy drop to the ground again.

Alfredo decided he’d seen enough, moving back around the corner quietly and moving back down the road. The Vagabond was a very well-known figure in the mercenary world, even if he wasn’t technically part of it any longer. He’d signed up permanently with a gang several years ago, aligning himself with some big names in the game, although Alfredo’d heard he did take a few jobs on every now and then, if the price was high enough. While the Fakes lived more towards the city centre, Vinewood had its fair share of rich fucks, it wouldn’t surprise Alfredo in the least if one had reached out to the man in the infamous skull mask.

It still unsettled him greatly that the Vagabond was currently interrogating some poor shmuck in the alley by his place. Fuck, Alfredo could probably still see into the alleyway from his balcony, and that thought didn’t comfort him at all.

Crossing the road a few buildings down, he circled back to the front of his apartment, avoiding looking at the alleyway. He couldn’t hear anything at the moment, but Alfredo didn’t give a flying fuck if the Vagabond was gone or not, he just wanted to be in the comforting isolation of his apartment.

Of course, since this week has been so fucking shit already, he wasn’t really that surprised to find his plans spoiled by something. Fuck his eyesight, fuck his goddamn auto focus, his natural instincts to glance around and check his surroundings, damn his stupid abilities. As he slid his key card into the card reader by the buildings front gate, he glanced to his left, and there, parked perfectly in front of his building was the silver car from yesterday. Alfredo sighed, cursed himself and his subpar survival instincts, and slid the card back into his pocket. He turned around, fixed his collar, and moved to lean his back against the wall, resigning himself to wait for the masked figure to emerge from the darkness of the alley.

And emerge from darkness he did, sliding out of the shadows and walking across the road. Now that Alfredo could see him in the open street, away from the shadows, he could see just how tall the Vagabond was. Something about the way he carried himself too, shoulders back, an easy yet commanding presence. Alfredo’s eyes flicked over him quickly, noting the slight rises in fabric where weapons were hidden on the man’s body, the blue of his eyes staring back at him, the slight tightness of his hands. The Vagabond reached the driver side door before he stopped, gaze never leaving Alfredo.

There was a heady pause, neither reacting, a simple observation on both their parts, although Alfredo’s gut was twisting slightly. The guy had a reputation after all, and was probably running on the adrenaline of beating the guy in the alley, whereas Alfredo was probably still a little drunk from last night, and, stupidly, completely unarmed.

The Vagabond seemed to decide their staring match was a bore, as he looked away and pulled open the door to the silver car, climbing inside without another glance. The windows were artificially dark, so Alfredo couldn’t see him anymore, but still, he continued to watch the car as it started and pulled away from the curb, speeding off down the street.

He continued to stand there, staring off into the distance for another couple of minutes before he pushed himself away from the way and crossed to the alley. With the threat of interrupting the Vagabond gone, he walked down the alley without hesitation, moving right to the apparently unconscious figure lying on the ground.

Alfredo wasn’t a complete asshole, but he was like 50% dickhead, so he made no move to actually help the guy up. He only wanted to get a look at the dude, who up close looked younger than he originally seemed. Alfredo also knew him.  
It was the kid who’d been with Manuel. Holy shit.

Alfredo frowned down at the guy, bruised and bloody but sort of breathing, before heading back. This week had been strange enough as it is, so after the last half hour, Alfredo was more than ready to put this and his weird mood behind and move on with his life. He doubted it’d be that easy, but Alfredo could hope all the same. It was Wednesday, but this week had been so weird and so annoyingly abnormal that Alfredo almost didn’t know how to cope.

He was a simple guy, easy-going, kind of a loner, but none the less simple, so why couldn’t his life be simple too?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beginning to add hints of Alfredo's abilities, can you tell? You'll see more in the next chapter, but thought I'd clarify that his abilities are known as Absolute Accuracy, allowing him to "auto focus" and scan/observe things incredibly quickly, and of course be incredible with any gun.


	4. Feathers on the sand.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan likes the beach, Trevor likes Ryan, and Meg's a good friend.

Ryan had always liked the ocean. The rhythmic sounds of the waves, cries of gulls, the wind. When he was younger, he used to travel with his parents for hours to get to the beach, and they’d made a game of collecting all sorts of souvenirs into a plastic bucket to take home. His greatest treasure had been a large, grey and white feather that he’d found when he was 6. It was longer than his forearm, and the barbs were in perfect condition, aside from a little sand.

The beaches in Los Santos were a far cry different to any he’d visited as a boy. This particular beach, Del Perro, looked incredible when you looked at it from a high rise apartment in the city. In person, the beach was marked with overflowing bins, empty bottles, plastic wrappers that had been abandoned by amusement park goers at the pier. Still, the overall ambience of the area had the same effect on Ryan, so he didn’t mind.

He was brought back to the present by a nudge from Trevor. The meeting, it seemed, was almost over.

Low conversation came from Jack and the woman they’d come to meet. The car park was empty aside from their three cars, a red sports car belonging to their client and Jack’s Entity, as well as the silver car Ryan had stolen a few nights ago. Ryan had come here almost as soon as Jack had texted the location, but Jack and Trevor had only arrived a few minutes before the others had, hours after Ryan parked up.

The woman they were meeting with, Francine, was a friendly, clean cut woman wearing a dark blue suit jacket and matching pencil skirt, looking for all intent and purposes like a regular office worker. She seemed prim and had a professional air about her, and Ryan had to give points to whoever she was working for. She was a far cry better than the first man they’d met with, an older gentleman in an ugly suit who seemed too shabby to work for someone with so much power. Even the new guy, Ramone, who’d come as her guard wore his suit better than the first guy. Tall, slim, hair and beard trimmed and neat, he looked like someone you’d find in a magazine, not a dirty abandoned car park at 9 o’clock at night.

“Thank you for your time, Mr Pattillo, Mr Low greatly appreciates your support.”

“It’s no trouble at all. We’ll be in touch.” Jack shook hands with Francine, smiling warmly. She smiled back, though it was a touch mechanical, and turned to usher her partner back inside the sports car. They stood and watched as the car left, before Jack turned to them.

“Well, that was boring as fuck. I’m going home, you want a lift, Trevor?”

“Nah, I’m good. You’re not gonna call Geoff?”

“I’ll call him in the morning, he’s visiting Griffon this evening.”

“Ah.” Trevor nodded and glanced at Ryan before looking back at Jack. “Well, have a good evening, Mr Pattillo, we greatly appreciate your support.”

Jack laughed at Trevor’s poor impersonation of Francine The Robot and shook his head. He walked around his car and said a quiet goodnight before slipping in and driving away, leaving Treyco and Ryan alone in the cool night. It seemed strange to Ryan that he could feel such a mixture of comfort in Trevor’s presence, and oddly sick to his stomach.

Never one to be silent for too long, Trevor sighed loudly and stood. “Well, I’m dead tired. Your place or mine, baby?”

He finished the question with a wink and a wag of his eyebrows, and Ryan laughed despite himself. He reached up to pull the mask up and off his head, shaking his hair loose and spying Trevor looking at him intently. Instead of meeting his eyes, Ryan looked out at the water in the distance, chewing his lip idly. “I’ve got business later tonight, but if you’re hungry we could go get burgers?”

He could feel Trevor’s grin from 3 feet away. “Burgers it is. You know I’m always keen to put greasy shit in my system.”

They hopped into the stolen car, Trevor snarking about the colour and how it came into Ryan’s possession, as Ryan drove them to the nearest burger place. Finally finding the place, they shortly debated getting takeaway or dining in, before heading inside.  
“All I’m saying is, if you’re gonna give yourself heart disease, you gotta go all the way. You sit in the store and breathe in all the toxic fatty air like the rest of us, Ryan.”

“I’m not arguing about this anymore. What do you want?” Trevor’s laughter carried through the almost empty restaurant. The conversation turned to other nothing topics while they ate, neither of them in the mood to talk business while they were there. The food was as shitty as expected, but the meal was comfortable.

The drive to Trevor’s flat was much the same, if a little more relaxed. With no one to put on a show for, Trevor was quieter, not as boisterous and showy as usual.

“So have you found anything on Gavin’s thief yet?” Trevor asked. Ryan sighed, the frustration bubbling back to the surface.

“The kid I saw the other day gave me a name, but it’s weird; Gav looked him up and he couldn’t seem to find any connections to any big names, or… anyone at all, in fact. The Sauce. He doesn’t have any regular clients, never works with people for too long. Just seems to take on jobs as he pleases.” Ryan hadn’t heard his name before, so either he wasn’t famous enough or any notoriety he’d gained had been after Ryan had joined the Fakes.

“The Sauce? That’s his name?”

“I mean, that’s what he goes by. We don’t have an actual name yet. He’s just some guy, a gun for hire who steals a wide array of shit for people. I mean, he obviously knows what he’s doing if he can get past Gav and Matt. So I’m thinking he’s just a loner, skilled but not really doing it for the rep, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m still stuck on his name. The Sauce. Mr Sauce. The Sauce-Man. Saucy Boy.”

“It’s really not the most important thing right now, Trevor. I go by Vagabond, Jeremy goes by fucking Rimmy Tim.”

“Okay, okay, geez, give a girl a break.”

Ryan glanced sideways at Trevor, sighing at the wide grin on his face. Trevor’s eyes turned serious a moment later, smile dimming. “Do we need to be concerned?”

Ryan thought hard.

“I think… yes. But-” He stopped Trevor as he opened his mouth. “But… I think I need more time. The guy is skilled, yeah, but I don’t know why this nobody would just break in to one of the most secure underground servers, especially one that belongs to the Fakes, copy a bunch of sensitive info and then do nothing with it. Matt and Gav have checked everything, and aside from the copies, nothing else has changed, so it’s not like he really damaged anything internally. He must have a buyer or something outside that prompted this, but the boys are having a hard enough time actually finding him, never mind who he works with. There’s more to him then we can see yet, and I don’t want to rush into things too quickly.”

Trevor looked contemplative, mulling Ryan’s words over in his head. It took him several minutes before he finally spoke. “I suppose you’d know better than the rest of us, but you’re right. The things that have been happening, small things that end up connecting to bigger things, bigger people… He surely can’t be the mastermind behind this, it doesn’t fit. Mercs, guns for hire, they don’t just go gung-ho and create a massive scheme to take down giant intercity gangs. So you think he’s been hired by whoever’s in charge? Or is he working with them?”

“I don’t think it’s the latter, but who knows. Maybe he’s signed up with them, maybe it was a one off. Can’t find out unless we find him.” Ryan pulled a face, turning into Trevor’s driveway and parking. He rubbed his temples, which were beginning to ache. “This is gonna be a pain in the ass.”

Trevor mumbled something that sounded like “I’ll be a pain in your ass” but when Ryan looked over, Trevor still seemed contemplative about the conversation. His face was dimly lit by the tiny lights on the dashboard, eyes hidden in shadow. He looked otherworldly. Trevor turned his head towards Ryan, his gaze heavy. “If you need a hand with anything, let me know. I know Geoff told you to look into it outside the main crew, but still. I’m here if you need me.”

Ryan felt odd again, nodding his head. The heaviness in Trevor’s gaze lingered for a few moments, before his usual mirth crept back into place and Trevor snorted. “Wow. What are we, gay?”

Ryan rolled his eyes, fine with letting the moment go. “Get out of my car, Treyco.”

“I thought it wasn’t your car, Ryan?” Trevor grinned but opened the door, blowing Ryan a kiss before climbing out and shutting it. Ryan watched him dissolve into shadows. Honestly, if it were anyone else, the jokes he made to mess with Ryan’s head would probably result in some kind of violence, but Trevor had a unique ability to get under Ryan’s skin without Ryan minding all that much. In fact, Ryan probably enjoyed it more than was appropriate.

Ryan looked up at Trevor’s balcony in time to see Trevor reform from the shadows and open the glass door, walking inside. Impressive, indeed.

Ryan lingered in the driveway a little longer, before leaving and heading back towards Del Perro. He hoped the meeting with his contact wouldn’t take long, but he could never be sure. Meg had said midnight, but she seemed to be living in a world where normal sleeping patterns didn’t exist. Ryan was tired, but if Meg said midnight, then midnight it was.

He was still pretty early, but by the time he left Pillbox Hill and got back to the beach, it’d be close to half past 11.

The streets were quiet, and Ryan didn’t mind the silence. He drove along the beach, past Del Perro and then the car park they’d been at earlier. He continued north, up the coast, before he eventually came to a stop near the Chumash beach club. He parked his car up and got out.

The temperature had dropped even further, a sign that summer was coming to an end. The starry, moonless sky stretched out ahead of him, and he enjoyed feeling small, for once. The waves crashed loudly against the rocks in the distance; Ryan could feel the spray of salt water hit his cheeks in the dark. It was a nice feeling, not having to wear his mask. Meg was his friend, she was safe.

His ears picked up the familiar sound of a motorbike in the distance, slowly nearing him. He turned towards the road when her headlight rounded the bend and came towards him. She smoothly pulled up near his car. Ryan blinked in the sudden dark as she turned off the engine and pulled off her helmet.

“Hey there, cowboy.”

Ryan laughed. “Hi Meg.”

Meg Turney climbed off her bike and came around to hug him. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, before letting them drop as she stepped back.

“Right. Let’s get straight to it, I don’t have long.” She pulled something out of a bag that Ryan hadn’t noticed was on her back. She handed him what felt like a thick envelope; it was surprisingly heavy. “The Sauce is a guy named Alfredo, Alfredo Diaz. He’s a lone wolf, and tends to take whatever odd job takes his fancy. He can go from petty theft one day to breaking into FBI headquarters the next. He’s not overly ambitious, but he is very skilled, even without the use of his powers. There’s a specific term for it but basically he can use any firearm with pinpoint accuracy. He never misses, like, ever. It’s scary.”

Ryan was impressed. “How’d you come up with all this?”

He got the impression she was grinning. “Because I’ve worked with him, thrice. That’s how.”

“You’ve met him? Do you have any photos?”

“Naturally. There’s one in there, a close up of his face.”

“And do you have anything else about his abilities?”

“Yeah. Unlike Ray, he never specialized, so I really wasn’t kidding about using any weapon.”

“What’s his class?”

“Seven.”

Ryan blinked. “Seven? Fucking hell.”

Meg laughed, pulling her helmet back on and turning away from him. “I know. That’s everything I know about the guy there. And Ryan?”

He looked up at her in the dim light. “I know it’s unlikely, but if you want my opinion? Alfredo is a mastermind criminal. He’s smart, and skilled, but… Just trust me, this guy is too chill to be mixed in with all this. I honestly think that if he stole from Geoff, he probably doesn’t know too much about what’s going on. He doesn’t like gang politics, so make sure you hear him out too.”

“I’ll… think about it. Thank you, Meg.”

She swung a leg over the bike. “Anything for you, Ryan. Tell Gavin to call me. Catch up soon?”

“Of course.”

She nodded, flipping down the visor on her helmet and starting the engine. With a wave, she turned her bike and tore off down the highway. A few tiny rocks tinked against the side of the car before the dust settled. Speaking of the car, Ryan remembered he should probably get rid of it. He’d been driving it around for convenience, but cruising in stolen vehicle was asking for police to notice him, and he really couldn’t be bothered dealing with the LSPD these days. No one could, they were an annoying inconvenience that they couldn’t afford to waste energy on, not with data thieves and business trades and suspicions of a growing threat in the Los Santos underworld. The string of small, barely noticeable incidents popping up over the last half-year, for RT and Fakehaus as well as Geoff’s crew, were becoming more and more of a headache for Ryan and the crew in general. It was frustrating, having so little to go on, which is why this Sauce guy, Alfredo, was so invaluable. He knew something, and Ryan needed to know what he did. It didn’t bother him how.

Ryan sat down on the hood of the silver car and looked out over the dark ocean. May as well enjoy the moment, while he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good guy Meg, to the rescue.


	5. Broken glass underfoot.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's the perfect way to ruin your day? He didn't know the answer, but being ambushed on a supposedly easy job certainly was high on the list.

Alfredo peaked around the corner. The expansive office space, cubicles once clean and evenly space, was in ruins. Some of the dividers had been knocked over or smashed to pieces, desks with papers and stationary and computer parts lying crushed in amongst it. Potted plants were knocked over, windows broken. Bullet holes covered the walls, pieces of plaster flung around the room. Eight bodies lay somewhere in there too. Well, eleven, technically, but the last three didn’t matter right now.

He focused on those particular eight. Eight bodies, one body for each of the eight bullets he'd brought with him, eight bullets belonging to his now useless semi-automatic pistol which he'd placed back in its holder earlier.  He'd thought bringing a gun and one clip was overkill, considering the office was  _ supposed _ to be fucking empty, but now he wanted to smack himself, and the dickheads he'd come with. The office was not fucking empty.

They'd somehow gotten halfway through the level before he noticed something was off. A shadow on the wall, light from the street below casting a strange pattern showing Alfredo that there were multiple figures standing around a corner. Funnily enough, the same corner he hiding behind now. How poetic.

More bullets peppers the wall beside him, loud in his ear. That was fine, he just needed to hear the sound of the prick reloading.

About 6 feet away from Alfredo lay a body, he wasn't sure who he was, fingers still curled around a Glock. Alfredo wanted that gun.

Eight bullets, nine men - who weren't supposed to fucking be here, Jesus Christ - and Alfredo knew he couldn't stop the last guy with bare hands. He’d almost tried earlier, before he'd picked up a goddamn Special Carbine and started going to town on the office.

_ Reload you prick! _ Alfredo mentally shouted at the guy. He was just happy he was a fucking idiot and hadn't figured out Alfredo had no bullets, otherwise he would’ve walked around the corner and blasted Alfredo by now.  Patience paid off, as he heard the gun click and a curse. Using both his arms and legs to push off the ground, Alfredo dove from his cover and flung himself at the body. His right hand curled around the handle of the gun and in an instant he swung around, firing two shots in quick succession.

The first bullet hit the man’s hand, tearing through skin, muscle and the metal of the gun, sending a spray of bloody thunks flying and the gun tumbling to the ground.

The second hit the man’s forehead, and blood, hair and brain matter splashed across the cubicle wall behind him. He fell back, dead.  Alfredo held his position, listening intently. A few cars drove by outside, but nothing else moved inside the building, as far as he could tell. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief and checked the gun.

Glock 21SF, with .45 auto rounds, 13 round capacity. Often used by law enforcement. Pulling out the clip, he counted nine bullets. Fucking typical.  He shoved it into the waistband of his pants and stood up. He did a quick survey of the room, briefly picking over the nearest dead bodies before giving up and moving towards one of the guys he'd come with. He nudged the corpse with the toe of his boot.

It was Phineas Turner, or PT, the guy who’d asked Alfredo to help him and a few buddies break into the supervisor’s office of some small law firm, take a bunch of legal documents and leave the room trashed, to “send a message”, which was cliche as hell but whatever, Alfredo didn’t give a shit.

His friends, Lucas something and a blonde guy who's name was long forgotten sat or lay near PT, just as dead. Fucking hell, Alfredo didn’t even know where to start. Does he call someone? Who do you even call?

It was a bust, one hundred percent. He had no idea what the fuck happened, why a group of fucking mercenaries - and they had to be, they had military grade weapons and moved as a unit, they weren't a rival gang or a group of nobodies like Alfredo - why they had been lying in wait for four schmucks who wanted to make some quick cash.  This was planned. Deliberate. It made his blood boil.

“Fuck!” He shouted, punching the wall beside him. “Why the fuck is this happening to me?”

He snatched up PT’s bag and hunted through it, pulling out his phone. Locked, not that it mattered. He shoved it into his back pocket, and leaned down to pull the watch off PT’s wrist. He was supposed to pay Alfredo once they were done, but, well, he was stone cold and Alfredo was feeling overly respectful of the dead right now.  Glass sharps broke under Alfredo’s boots as he approached a window, sticking to the shadows, and looked outside. No parked cars directly outside, what looked like a beat up Subaru pulled into a driveway further down. Their car, a small Nissan Skyline, parked at the end of the street. All the windows he could see were dark, and he couldn’t see any hidden figures lurking within the shadows. Either the mastermind behind this mess trusted the mercs to do their job without supervision, or they were keeping tabs through other means. None of the bodies had any mics or phones on them, in fact they had no electronic equipment at all, but he didn’t know if he should be concerned about it or not.

Something else lurked at the edges of his mind. His eyesight was missing something.

Facing the room, he slowed his breathing and closed his eyes, focusing. There was… a slight breeze, from the windows, but aside from the light noises of the outside trickling in, there wasn’t a sound.

_ Hmm. _

He opened his eyes again and walked around the room, moving piles of debris to check the computers and phones. Alfredo had once posed as a cleaner on a job, in an office building he’d needed to case. During the day, the office had been bustling and noisy, but even at night, there’d always been some machine humming away in the background, a computer left on or a water cooler bubbling. He didn’t doubt most of the electronics in this room would be broken beyond repair, but he wanted to see if there was any details that jumped out at him. Nothing worthwhile stood out.

Moving away from the rubble, he walked over to his original target tonight - the supervisor’s office. Of course it was locked, so he adjusted himself then slammed his body shoulder-first into the door. It flung back, hitting the wall with a loud bang. Not that it mattered - there’d been a gunfight in here minutes earlier, and if someone were going to call the police they’d have done it by now.

Which was another odd thing about tonight. No cops? Alarms?

Alfredo glanced around, already moving towards the desk. Bookshelf, four more pot plants, a small sofa. Some filing cabinets. He walked around and pulled the chair out, ducking his head under the desk.

A waste basket filled with what looked like blank paper, and a whole lot of empty space. He looked back up at the computer monitor. There was no cord, nor was there a mouse. The keyboard was there, but the cord wrapped a few times around the monitor stand and didn’t actually connect to anything. The phone was similarly unplugged. Obviously whoever had orchestrated this had only gone for appearances, as Alfredo suspected the computers in the main area would’ve been the same before they’d been shot to hell.

He moved to the cabinets, pulling out drawer after empty drawer. There was nothing, not a scrap of paper. This wasn’t a real office. The whole fucking building was fake.

Alfredo was genuinely worried now, a trickle of dread curling itself around his stomach. He kept calm though, scanning a few books for anything useful before leaving the room. He wasn’t used to being the target of an ambush. Or maybe it’d been for PT?

Something in his gut told him this wasn’t the case, but Alfredo couldn’t say why. He didn’t have enemies, he didn’t work with people or associate with others enough to be the target of a attack on somebody’s allies or something. Just what the fuck was going on?

He paused, thinking about recent jobs. Did this have something to do with his most recent stunt? Sure, he’d broken into a server belonging to Geoff Ramsey… but he was certain he’d done well enough that it couldn’t be traced straight to him. And besides, he knew of the Fakes. They were the type to bust in, fists flying, probably with multiple explosions going off in the background. They didn’t seem like the type to orchestrate something like this.

Finding someone to hire Alfredo and bring him here to be taken out? Alfredo guessed PT and the boys hadn’t been told the full story, just that they’d needed to get him here. So whoever it was, they not only needed Alfredo gone, but even PT’s group were apparently considered enough of a loose thread that they’d needed to be dealt with as well. Why so much effort? What kind of secrets had Alfredo stumbled upon, dangerous enough that someone was willing to gun down four strangers to keep the truth hidden?

Someone with a lot of money, and a powerful reach. Someone who probably wasn’t Geoff Ramsey, but had some connection to the information he’d stolen.  Alfredo shuddered.  _ Fuck me, fuck my life. _ He needed to get out of here.

He grabbed the bag he’d brought with him but dropped when they’d been attacked. He debated on leaving the Glock behind, but again, he was no longer getting paid for shit, so he decided to keep it. Keeping quiet and alert, staying in the shadows, he made his way down the stairwell and into the tiny lobby, checking it was clear before inching outside. Sensing no movement, he took off at a light jog down the street, pausing only once he reached the car they’d to the office building. Thank god for his eyesight.

It looked fine. Not a trace of anything wrong from the outside. The windows were unbroken, no holes or cracks. If not for the fact that he knew the carnage that lay inside, it looked as normal as the other office buildings and apartment blocks that lined the streets, and it confirmed another thought he’d had earlier - the place must be glamoured or cloaked in some way. It must be blocking the sound too.

Someone with incredible power really, really wanted him dead, and really wanted it kept secret.

Alfredo suddenly felt a sense of urgency settle into his bones. He needed to get far, far away from the bloody mess in that office, from this dark street. In fact, he probably should avoid people in general for a little while.  He hopped in the car and started the engine. Without another glance, he sped off around the corner, heading back to his, hopefully, empty apartment.


	6. Beer bottles in a bathtub, rotted bodies in an office.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan and Trevor find some pretty gross things, but at least they're catching up to Alfredo.

Phineas Turner, known to friends as PT. Had a pretty average record that didn't impress Trevor much; petty theft, one case of arson, one case of armed robbery. Multiple minor drug charges. Small fry.

Small fries. Trevor was hungry. _Focus._

PT’s house had one story and four rooms, each dirtier than the next - kitchen, lounge, bedroom, and an absolutely disgusting bathroom. It smelled like mould. Trevor gagged a little when he entered the room and found beer bottles, an old condom and a pile of puke inside the filthy bathtub - he didn't want to think about what exactly that was from - and quickly evacuated the room after a rushed look through the bathroom cabinets.

Ryan was checking the cabinets in the kitchen, without much success. He looked up at Trevor and shrugged. “Anything in the bathroom?”

“Oh there's something alright, but nothing we can use.” Ryan tilted his head in response but moved on. Together they made their way into the bedroom. Aside from a laptop and a wallet, there wasn't anything in there either, although Trevor commented about the wallet when it was clear that PT hadn’t been home in a few days. Ryan booted up the laptop, but it was a bust as well.

Trevor sighed and scrubbed his face. “Okay, I’m ready to leave. There's nothing here. We’ll just have to get Gav to look online again.”

Ryan nodded, but took the laptop as well, in case the boys could find something he couldn't. “Call him?”

Trevor pulled out his phone and looked up Gavin’s contact as they left the shithole of a house and hopped in Ryan’s car, thankfully his own one. Trevor hadn't gotten a proper answer when he asked where the silver car had gone, so it was probably in the ocean or something. Ryan was funny like that.

The phone clicked, and Gavin’s voice started up loudly in his ear. “-ello Treyco, what can I do for ya?”

“Gavin. How busy are you right now? We need you to look into something for us.”

Trevor could hear Michael’s voice in the background, and Gavin laughed at whatever he said. He took a moment to calm down before he answered. “Uh, Michael and I are just pissing about at Geoff’s, but I can help if you need. Did you find anything at that house?”

“Nothing useful, like, at all, but we've got a laptop here that could offer something. We’ll be around soon.” Ryan looked at him and Trevor mouthed _Geoff’s place._ Ryan nodded and changed lanes, turning the car around.

Trevor shared a few more details with Gavin, in particular the mess in the bathroom, before hanging up. Ryan was quiet, more than he usually was, his grip tight on the steering wheel. Trevor knew he had a lot on his mind, and he’d tell Trevor when he wanted to, so for now Trevor let him have space.

He watched the scenery out of the window. It was a hot, muggy day, the kind of wet heat that made Trevor want to kiss whoever invented aircon. Even the short walk to Ryan’s car made Trevor feel a little sweaty, even though he’d gone for light khaki pants and a thin white shirt. How Ryan wasn’t dying in his leather jacket, black jeans and boots, Trevor didn’t know.

Trevor did think Ryan looked good, though. Great, even. Hot. _Super hot._ _Shut up._

It was still a little before noon, so the city centre wasn’t too busy, and they made it to Geoff’s in no time. Ryan was still quiet, though he’d started commenting on the people they passed on the street, which was always fun because Ryan noticed the darndest things about people. Even muffled by the mask, Ryan’s chuckling put a super not-gay smile on Trevor’s face. He didn’t have a crush, don’t be ridiculous.

Taking the private elevator direct from the underground car park to Geoff’s floor, Trevor was super grateful the elevators were finally fixed. The Fake AH crew had a habit of doing really dumb shit that usually led to some kind of property damage, and not having to walk up stairs because Geoff refused to tell them the new code, was lovely.

The doors opened and Ryan led the way across the small landing to hold his card across the metal plate beside the door. It chirped, and Ryan pushed the door open, tucking the card away.

Immediately they could hear raucous laughter from inside the apartment. Geoff was yelling at someone, Gavin’s protesting voice cutting him off. There was a slight smell of something burning.

“Ah, home sweet home.”

Ryan slid the mask off his face and laughed. “Well, it is home, I dunno how sweet it is here though.”

Trevor grinned as Gavin bounded around the corner. He was wearing socks, and he slid a little on the polished, wooden floors. He squeaked but stayed upright, looking over them and spying the laptop. “Good. Right, lads, let’s get to it.”

He swooped over and took the device off Ryan, waltzing past them and disappearing into his room. Ryan moved towards the living room where the rest of the guys seemed to be, but Trevor followed Gav.

It was dark in his room, not that Trevor minded, and Gavin was already connecting his own computer to the laptop. He plugged cables in with a familiar ease, as Trevor shuffled over and slumped into the spare desk chair. At least Gav had had enough sense to pull a fan in here, and Trevor played with the buttons until it was no longer rotating, instead aimed directly at him.

“A bit hot, Trevor?”

“Fucking hell, yeah. Haven’t you been outside? It’s like a million degrees out there.”

Gavin glanced over at him, expression smug. “You sure it wasn’t because you’ve been spending so much time with the very sexy Mr Ryan Haywood?”

Trevor looked back at him. “Unless Ryan is a giant flaming ball in the sky, no, I don’t think so.”

Gav muttered something under his breath about flaming balls - which Trevor smartly chose to ignore - and sat down in his own chair. He got to work right away, fingers typing away, switching his focus from one device to the next. It gave Trevor a break, his train of thought drifting.

_It’s hot. I’m bored. Hungry. Ryan looks good in black. Is eleven too early for lunch? I’m hungry. Ryan is hot._

“Please, whatever you’re thinking about, stop.”

“Just thinking about giant flaming balls, Gav.”

“You’re sick.”

“Love sick, more like.”

Gavin laughed at that, shaking his head. “Sod off.”

Trevor grinned but stayed quiet. He pulled out his phone to check his emails. There wasn’t anything too pressing, although he’d need to check in with Lindsay and some of the others soon. Even if Geoff had allowed him to work with Ryan, Trevor still had a job to do, and overseeing the smaller, day to day business of a crew as large as the Fakes took a lot of time and patience.

He sent a few emails of his own, tapping away at his phone while Gavin worked. It wasn’t long before Gavin sat back and tilted the laptop so Trevor could look at the screen. “Right, so there really wasn’t much here, but I dug up a few messages from someone asking him to get in contact with that Sauce fella. And of course there’s him asking Sauce to meet up, including that one email we already traced back to him last night, and then one a few days later telling him where to meet up at some bar. There’s some office building mentioned, so you could probably check there. I’ll have to dig a bit deeper to see who emailed the laptop’s owner, but in the meantime you’ve got two places to look at.”

Trevor opened his notes on his phone and took down the addresses. The Bay Bar, on Paleto Boulevard, and some law firm called Francis Rome Law Associates. Huh. Trevor hadn’t heard of it.

“There might be nothing, but I’ll see if there’ve been any break-ins at that office. The email is from last week, and they were apparently supposed to hit it two nights ago. I’ll hit you up if I find anything.”

“Sweet, thanks, Gavvers. Maybe this’ll cheer Ryan up.”

“No worries. By the way-” Whatever Gavin was about to say was lost as Michael and Ryan’s voices carried down the hallway.

“Where is that British bitch, Gav, you in here? Oh, hey, Treyco.” Michael pushed open the bedroom door and walked in like he owned the place, tossing Gavin his shoes. Gav dropped them off course, and squawked out a _“Michael why,”_ arms flailing and almost taking out his monitor. “We’re going out. Geoff wants us gone, he’s got a client coming over or something. Trevor, you in?”

Trevor shook his head. “Ryan and I have somewhere to be.”

“We do?”

He held up his phone. “Two addresses, courtesy of Mr Free and our good friend PT.”

Michael looked between them. “Right, right. You sure you’re not just gonna suck each other off in a car park somewhere?”

“Well, that too, naturally, but that’s for afterwards.” Ryan laughed at Trevor as Michael sighed.

Trevor detoured to the kitchen before heading to the lift with the boys, grabbing a handful of muesli bars and scoffing them on the way down to the car park.

They passed an older woman waiting to enter the lift, who smiled at them as they cleared out of her way. Michael and Gavin headed off somewhere as Trevor followed Ryan. He rattled off the first address once Ryan had started the car, and soon they were away.

 

 

~

 

 

“Holy fucking _shit._ ” Trevor stared. And _stared_. Man, he’d thought the bathtub had been disturbing, but this was downright horrifying.

Dead bodies lay everywhere. Like, literally everywhere - slumped against desks, in amongst knocked over cubicle walls, in between the aisles. The room stank, a sickly sweet scent of decay lay thick in the room, and Trevor gagged, rearing back. His back pumped into Ryan, standing behind him, and he put his hand on Trevor’s shoulder to shuffle him to the side. The smell was strong, probably a mix of time and the heatwave in Los Santos worsening it. Ryan didn’t seem as outwardly affected as Trevor, but even the mighty Vagabond couldn’t withstand the massive stench of rotting flesh for long. Ryan got about four feet into the room before he gave a small jerk, then veered towards the wall of windows where the air was apparently a little less saturated.

“Fucking Christ, it’s a goddamn bloodbath in here!”

“You’re not wrong.”

Trevor looked over at him, having gotten a _tiny, tiny_ bit more used to the smell, then squinted. “Wait, there weren’t any holes on the outside.”

Ryan looked about, realising the same thing. Every glass pane in the entire wall of had some kind of hole or mark. And it wasn’t as if they were all tiny holes, no, in fact several of the windows were straight up gone. They’d been in the car outside, watching the office building for signs of activity for almost half an hour, there was no way they could’ve missed that many bullet holes.

Trevor had another thought, and walked back out into the landing and, mentally bracing himself, took a long, deep breath.

Nothing.

“It’s cloaked out here too, I can’t smell anything anymore.” He edged back into the room and after taking a last gulp of clean air, pulled the door shut. “This might explain why we couldn’t see anything happening from outside; everyone’s dead.”

“Something tells me there may have been some uninvited guests.”

Trevor shot Ryan a glance, but Ryan only nodded to a body near the far wall. Now that Trevor looked, he could see he wore black, and had a mask and goggles covering his face. What the fuck?

“Can you search the room?” Ryan asked, still huddled around a missing window. Trevor grimaced but nodded, stilling himself.

He felt something tight and dark in his chest uncoil itself and begin to spread, moving down his legs. His own shadow on the ground shuddered slightly and then grew, spreading out across the floor and melding with the existing shadows within the room.

They skittered around the room, tiny fingers sending prickling sensation back to Trevor, creeping under and around, melting and merging before becoming physical, black tendrils. He sent them searching through the mess, dipping into pockets and into drawers. It took a few minutes, but eventually Trevor’s shadow returned and he shook his head, eyes focussing in front of him.

“Twelve bodies, only three have anything like ID or wallets. The rest are pretty armoured up, multiple guns and a number of knives. I’d say they were mercs, only they don’t have anything like headsets on them. The first three don’t have any weapons, aside from one sad, unused knuckle duster.” Trevor caught Ryan looking at him fondly, expression open. He blinked at his bare face. “Where’d your mask- You know what, don’t answer. And stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like that! There’s a reason Michael keeps calling us gay, you know.”

Ryan’s expression shifted a little, but the look stayed in his eyes. Trevor’s cheeks started warming, so he quickly moved away.

The three unfortunate dead guys, who’d obviously been casualties of some kind of ambush, most likely, were thankfully close together, not far from the door, actually. They were pretty gruesome up close. One was a little around the corner, and he’d been truly decimated. His entire back had been torn into, and he’d folded over on himself. Trevor didn’t fancy touching him, but he’d managed to weasel the guy’s wallet out of his pockets earlier. He picked it up and tossed it to Ryan.

The other guys weren’t quite as nasty looking, but they weren’t much better. One was sitting against the cubicle wall, head down and absolutely covered in blood. Trevor almost thought his throat may have been slit, but knives usually didn’t blow out the back of one’s neck. There was a flattened desk beside him, the final guy lying on top of it. Trevor nudged him with his foot, but his body had hardened, and he barely budged. Gross.

“Trevor, it looks like we found Phineas Turner.” Trevor looked over. Ryan held up a drivers license, presumably PT’s.

“Really? Damn.” He looked over the dividing wall at PT’s body. “What a way to go.”

Retrieving the other two wallets, he moved back to the safety of the window. Looking through them told him the other two bodies belonged to Lucas Finch and Tommy Langster. Trevor vaguely recalled the names; they were close friends of PT. “Damn. Well, at least we know where he is. I wonder if the Sauce is here too?”

Ryan looked a little strained. “I hope not. I’m sick of finding people and having them die before I can talk to them. I already missed him once, I really need this guy to be alive.”

Trevor nodded, and he pulled out the photo Ryan had given him a few days ago. Ryan had seen Meg at some point, and she’d given him some info on the Sauce, including a photograph. He’d waited until he’d met with Trevor in the morning and they’d looked through the few papers in there together. Trevor had picked out the photo first, taking a long look at him before turning it around to show Ryan and make a joke. Whatever he’d been trying to say had died in his mouth pretty quick when he saw the expressions passing on Ryan’s face.

First, shock, followed by incredulousness, realisation, before settling on annoyed acceptance.

“I saw him three days ago.”

Turns out Ryan had had a weird staring contest with him in the middle of the street, about two minutes after beating the shit out of someone for information on how to find him.

Trevor focused on the photo again. Dark hair, light tan, deep brown eyes, kinda cute, and weirdly looked a little like himself. He shoved the photo into his pocket again.

Their reluctant but thorough searching let them know the Sauce wasn’t here.

“Maybe he got away? He’s certainly a lot more capable then Phineas, and all these other dudes died by gunshot wounds.” Trevor pointed out. Ryan shrugged, and moved to a door set into the wall marked with the words ‘ _Supervisor Office_ ’.

Trevor stayed out by the windows, watching the street outside. The breeze was still far too hot, but that didn’t stop the steady foot traffic passing by. Actually, now that he looked, he could actually see the broken glass outside. No one but Trevor could see it, but the crowd of people were walking over the glass shards, none the wiser, and if Trevor focused his hearing, he could almost imagine he could hear the crunching/snapping of glass underfoot. Whoever or whatever was hiding the mess was doing an incredible job.

Trevor was startled by a sudden noise, but after he recovered from his heart attack, he whipped his phone out and saw Gavin’s photo pop up on his screen.

“Yes, Gavin?”

“Where are you?”

Trevor frowned; Gavin was oddly serious. “At the office? Why?”

“It’s a fake. The business isn’t real, you could be in danger.”

Trevor swallowed. “How do you know? Also, I don’t think there’s anymore danger here. Gav, the place is filled with bodies. It looks like PT and his friends turned up here a few days ago and were fucking slaughtered.”

“What? You found them? Hang on, I’ll put you on speak. Jack’s here too.”

Trevor looked over at the open door to the supervisor’s office. Ryan was still inside, looking around. “Well, we found PT at least, but no sign of the Sauce. There are twelve bodies here, we think the other guys might be mercs, all dead via bullet wound, so we think the Sauce may have got out okay.”

“Or he had something to do with it.” Jack’s voice.

Trevor frowned. “No… I don’t think so. I mean, we don’t even really know what happened. Also, PT got hired to bring Sauce here, right? So they must’ve been set up, or someone else found the email we did, and intervened?”

“There’s a lot of variables in there, Trevor.”

“Yeah, well. Theories and variables is kinda all we have right now. And you never answered my question, Gav. What did you say about the business?”

“It’s not real, Jack hadn’t heard of it so he googled it and nothing came up. Then we rang Matt, and he looked into it too. There is no business called ‘Francis Rome Law Associates’, or anything that’s kinda close.”

Ryan chose that moment to walk out and come over to him, a sense of urgency in his step. He eyed the phone in his hand. “Who’s that?”

“It’s Gavin. They looked into it, and apparently there is no business called Francis Rome Law. This place isn’t a real place.”

“I know.”

“You- wait, you, how?”

Ryan looked around the room slowly. “There’s nothing in that office. The desk has a monitor and a keyboard on it with no actual PC, a couple of empty filing cabinets. And have you noticed how there are no cameras? Or printers, or any working technology at all? I bet most of these setups were fake too.”

Ryan moved to the nearest cubicle that it had all four of it’s walls standing, and Trevor followed. Sitting on the small desk was a computer with a mouse and keyboard. A few generic looking photos were pinned to the little corkboard attached to a wall, although there didn’t actually appear to be any one person shown twice. There was no paper or stationary present.

Ryan wheeled the chair out of the way and bent under the desk. He poked around for a second while Trevor relayed what Ryan had told him to Jack and Gav. Ryan made a triumphant noise and popped his head up. “None of the cords are connected. The computer doesn’t work. In fact I doubt it would work even if it was.”

Trevor frowned at Ryan’s words. “Christ. This is like some next level bullshit.”

“We’re on our way to Matt’s. I left the laptop at Geoff’s, but I’m pretty sure there wasn’t too much more we could get from it. What’s your plan?” Trevor turned his speaker on too, so Ryan could hear them.

“We’ve seen enough here, I doubt there’s anything else worthwhile. I might go pay a visit to the kid I talked to last week, see if there’s any info he may have _forgotten_.”

“Okay, keep us posted. And if it makes you feel any better, at least you know the Sauce is still alive.” Jack provided.

“For now, that is.” Trevor looked at Ryan, who nodded. “Talk to you soon, Jack.”

“Let’s go.”

Ryan nodded, and they moved swiftly to the exit.

This whole fucking building had been both _enlightening_ and had also created a hundred more questions. Mercenary ambushes in pretend offices? Magical cloaking that lasts for days, and covers up both sight, sound _and_ smell? Whoever this Sauce guy was, Trevor really fucking hoped his luck didn’t run out before they found him. It was becoming clearer and clearer that this guy was also being hunted by whoever the hell was behind the last few months, and that the Sauce, this Alfredo Diaz, was also one of the few people fortunate enough to still be breathing after getting himself involved.

Speaking of, at least they now knew just what he’d taken. A list of Geoff’s safe houses, both personal and the crews, as well as a long list of all current Fake AH associates, which meant people like Rooster Teeth, Kerry Shawcross, Caleb, Ray. Meg.

How much did Alfredo know about what he’d stolen? Did the poor guy know what he’d gotten himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was started at 1am yesterday, paused at about 3, started again at 9pm and it's now 3.38 am. If anyone notices spelling mistakes, please lemme know and I'll fix it when I'm alive again. Hugs and kisses, love you, byeeeeeeeee~
> 
> Also Alfredo is the main narrator for this fic, though Trevor and Ryan take up the mantle every now and again, and I hope people start to pick up the subtle differences between their styles.


End file.
